DA2: Solace
by taviastrife
Summary: Mourning the recent tragedy in her family, Hawke goes to the Hanged Man to drown her sorrows.  Characters/Pairings: Isabela, FemHawke/Fenris; Rated: T, for suggestive themes


The pungent liquor ran down her throat in huge gulps, starting to take effect on her tired mentality. Blood was rushing to her head, causing a blush to come over her face. Her eyes felt as if they were crossed, her tongue felt slick against her teeth, and her limbs were beginning to feel heavy. Cozy warmth emanated from her fingertips, and every touch caused what was like an electrical current to run through them. The people surrounding her were blurred, and their voices were muffled. Sentences formed in her mind slurred into a mess of words, and the reason why she was drinking was becoming hazier by every second.

It was exactly as Hawke wanted it.

The woman beside her was making the most noise in the tavern with her cheering and toasting. Being scantily dressed did no harm in attracting younger, craving gazes upon her. Compared to her Hawke appeared out of place. The pirate had made this establishment as home, building a reputation every time she strolled in.

Isabela reached over to lazily drape an arm around Hawke's neck, pulling her close, and fluttering a filled tankard's rim in front of her lips. "Ishn't this fun?" she asked with a drunken grin on her countenance. The—others don't know h-how to have fun…" She let out a giggle before taking a swig. She forced Hawke's head to turn in her direction by a twist of her wrist. A mischievous gleam in her deep eyes appeared as she flirtatiously suggested, "H-how about…I keep y-you company tonight? Doeshn't that shound heavenly…?"

An unsuccessfully subdued smirk formed on Hawke's face. In that seductive voice, the offer was quite persuasive. Her flighty mind thought of what it would be like with the pirate's soft cocoa skin against hers. It was true there was no one for her later this evening. However, she wasn't that drunk, and she knew it would be an empty act. "I'm afraid!" she began dramatically, "…that I don't do si-thingsh like that."

"Pity," she instantly remarked as if expecting the woman's answer from the onset.

Hawke watched from the corner of her eye with amusement as Isabela slammed her mug down and propped herself on the bar with her elbows. She could see the Pirate Queen look around the room in curiosity, searching for her next prey. What a playful whore she was!

"Fen Fen!" Isabela suddenly called with her hand waving in the air. Wrapping her arm around Hawke's waist, she pulled away from the bar. Hawke tried to hang onto the edge of the bar with her fingers, and she dragged her feet as they advanced toward him and his quiet corner table. She didn't want to see him now, not after what had happened. Regardless of her wishes, Isabela carried her along, and the two of them roughly plopped down into a wooden chair opposite his. Isabela took the liberty of sprawling out on top of Hawke's lap before enthusiastically saying, "You would think…sush a brooding fellow—would remain in his manshion, but y-you are here! A speshi—specimen as handshome as this s–should be shared!"

The noblewoman rogue frowned as she forced her gaze to the floor. If the woman in her lap planned to stay for a while to chatter away, she was contented to merely sit in silence, even if she was ruffling her short hair while doing so. However, the sudden horrified gasp which passed through Isabela's lips made her slightly jolt. She could feel Isabela's warm breath beat against her face.

"Is that man…" the pirate began with a point of her finger, "shtealing our spot at the bar?" Using Hawke's hair as boost, Isabela jumped to her feet and began to stagger away.

"Is there no other than Isabela you can find comfort in?" Fenris abruptly asked. It was hard to tell if he was mad or not, and Hawke found that quite irritating for a reason she knew not.

"Wh-who would that be…? Hm? I ushe to have… someone like dat—someone beshides my mother. I did," she curtly reiterated, pointing up with her index finger, "but now… I don't. And, you—_you_ know why. Sho—so sh-shut up." Letting her head lean against the back of her chair, she brought the wine bottle up and took a few good and drawn out gulps of the bitter liquid. A heavy sigh passed her lips as she finished her swig. Her hands falling limp to her sides, she lulled her head to one side to face the bar, noticing Isabela's advances toward a young, naïve little guard. The boy merrily laughed in the face of the Temptress, placing a kiss straight on her seductive mouth. Maybe—just for the sake of adventure, mind you—she would accept Isabela's previous offer. Regret, be damned. She'd simply have to beg for the Maker's forgiveness the following morn.

On the other hand, the Maker would perhaps have mercy on her, recognizing that she was alone.

With a smile tugging its way onto her visage, Hawke allowed her drunken stupor to overtake her for a slight second as she scanned the rest of the room, listening to the faint jaunty music. The coherent part of her, which miraculously persisted through her intoxication, kept reminding her that Fenris was still present. A faint inkling told her he was staring at her and that she should get ahold of herself. She hastily pushed it aside as nonsense. The damned elf would have to put up with it.

Her whole body was warm, and she was pleased to admit that her feet were numb. There was a strange sensation in the hind of her mind, though. It almost felt as tickling, and it wanted to force her mouth open. Suddenly she realized that she desired to talk.

Talking. It was always of their problems, but never of hers.

"Mageshes have, has—no, _have_—it harder than you think," she cared not if Fenris wanted to chat about such matters or not. This wasn't his night; it was hers. "Alls of you gave…in. None reshisted. You…" she pointed at him, "…couldn't do it either. Gave into temptationssh, what you didn't want ta do. But, you…shtill get angry when I try ta help my shest—my little mage shister. Poor Bethany… Nevers, never did anything, never. Not a shingle bad thing…yet, you think she did…" Hawke slowly mumbled, having a lingering wonder of whether the elf could even understand her slurring. "Then…you shay that I don't like your marchin—markings. Which…I never shaid. You think I did, but I…I didn't." She focused her blurry vision onto her elven companion's face. She acknowledged it could have been the drink which affected her eyesight so badly at the moment, yet she thought she could distinctly see his face devoid of any expression.

Although his slender face was not difficult to look at, and the lighting of the tavern did no harm in flattering his features further, something in his flat gaze stirred anger inside her. She abruptly and tightly shut her eyes, turning her head away. "And, there it iss…that look again…" she stammered in a huff, grabbing hold of her bottle with both hands. "You—you alwaysh give looksh. Never…never acshually say anything…"

Resting her cheek against the neck of the discolored bottle, she stared into the elf's eyes the best she could. She felt a glimmer of softness in them, but it wasn't enough. There was still sadness, and she wanted nothing to do with sadness. She yearned for merriment, for playful banter, for singing, for drinking, for numbness, for forgetfulness. Anything to fill the void.

"You know… you're juss no fun…"she blurted out, grasping the edge of the table. She heaved herself up from the chair, making it rattle and nearly topple over. "So…I am going back to Isshabela."

Before she could stagger away, Fenris' voice halted her steps. "You haven't had more than you can bear already?"

Hawke let her head hang back slightly as she considered his words. That was all he was going to say? Maybe she had missed a word or two in her delirium, which she highly doubted, yet it was a possibility. Nevertheless, he expected her to take that one lousy phrased sentence as concern? She let a frustrated smirk appear on her face. This damn elf would eventually be the death of her. Twisting about and leaning forward across the table to glower at him, she snapped, "Don't _you _shay that to me! You're not th-the only one who can… get druhnk and tossh bottles about." Raising it high above her head, she hurled the bottle as hard as she was able, smashing it to pieces against the stone wall beside the elf.

Dizziness suddenly crept up on her from the swift motion, forcing her balance to buckle. She had to lay practically her entire upper body atop the wooden table to steady herself. "I know ezshactly how drunk I am," she slowly stated, tapping her fingers with every word. "I—I can drink… how ever mush I want. And, I want to the point…where… I pass out." She gradually became conscious to the pressure increasing behind her eyes. The images of blood and limbs flashing through her thoughts did nothing but intensify it. Her left armored hand scratched thin lines into the surface of the table as she balled her fist. "I-I…need it. And…I want it," she said, holding back the knot forming in her throat. "S-so leave me be."

Sliding herself off the edge of the table, Hawke began to amble her way back to the bar, staggering and nearly tripping over a chair caught by her foot. She wouldn't show tears to him, the elf who had caused her to spill her drink all over the wall. She didn't want to look at him for the rest of the night. She was determined to forget it all, everyone and everything. There was no conflict, no political struggles, no Qunari war, no betrayal, and most of all no blood magic in the world of tonight. There was nothing except drinks, songs, and the later voyage she would have with the Temptress. It was an empty, meaningless voyage, but there would be warmth within the folds of her bed.

As she approached the bar, she could see the many blurry figures cheer as Isabela bellowed, brandishing her tankard, "The Shampion returns!" Hawke's delirious mind detected a slender arm slip about her neck, pulling her along. She could hazily sense her stomach hit against the counter quite hard. Oddly enough, it didn't hurt. There was a thud as a slender green object was placed before her; it took her time to realize it was another bottle of wine.

"Aren't I more fun than…shkulking about your home?" the pirate asked, slamming her cup down. "Are—aren't I…?

There she went saying that dreadful word! _Home_. Who needed a home or a family to be content? She would be content in not hearing of them any longer, if only others would cease in speaking about them. Why wouldn't they leave it be? She knew there were problems prevalent throughout her life. It didn't mean she wanted to keep dwelling on them, especially not with a fresh bottle of memory removal in front of her. Yet, that pressure behind her eyes began once more.

Hawke hastily flipped the cork out of the bottle with her thumb. "Isshabela. Don—Don't menshion home. If you do…I think—I might cry," she said pointedly. She could be honest with her.

"Aw…my poor Hawkey," Isabela mumbled, leaning over to plant a long kiss on the woman's cheek. Leaving a trace of a mixture of saliva and liquor, the pirate snuggled her forehead against the side of the rogue's head with a pitiful expression. "Izzy will keep y-you company tonight…hmm?"

Hawke gave her a small smile. All she knew was that she hadn't heard the word 'home' or 'family' in that last sentence, which made her delightfully happier. "S-sounds better…" she murmured, running her finger around the bottle's rim.

There was an abrupt and jolting tug on her left arm, making her neck nearly crack from the momentum. She was pulled from her safe haven, and her newly acquired flask fell through her slippery grasp to shatter on the floor. She had no minute to care, for images of the tavern swirled about her, distorting into a blurry mass. She could distinguish a yell here and there coming from Isabela, yet her azure eyes were unable to focus on the woman. The ceiling hurriedly morphed to a blanket of black with numerous white specks, and the hard flooring became as dirt under her feet as dust was thrown about by her strange movements. She was slammed into something rough and hard, thudding the back of her head.

There was a coldness surrounding her, threatening to pierce through her skin straight to her bones. The warm, welcoming light of the tavern had turned to darkness, and the music had faded into a mere muffled noise. There was a shimmering of green she caught in her peripheral, intensely peering at her like orbs of a predator of the forest.

Blinking a few times and allowing her eyes to adjust to the sudden change, Hawke noticed the white lines of familiar tattoos painted on a darker complexion. She had talked with this person a few moments before with him sitting smugly at his table in the corner. She had thrown something to quickly end their conversation—a bottle? A piece of glass from the wine bottle apparently had cut the lower left of his jaw. A small trickle of blood had fallen down the extent of his slim neck, leaving a stained trail. It wasn't a serious wound of any sort, yet she still yearned to softly caress his cheek and tenderly tell him she was sorry. She couldn't, though. It was no longer her place to worry for him. He had seen to that. "Wha—what do you… want? Lemme go… I—you broke up wisth me. S-so, you don't haft to care," she huffed, pushing his firm hold away. "Lemme…get back ta my drinkin'…"

She felt the elf's tight hold and her back slam to the wall again. The same stare remained on his visage, but there was something new added to it. She squinted as she tried to figure out why his face was reflecting such bright light under the moon. She pushed aside her dizziness enough to observe a tear fall from his chin. _Damn him_. There was to be no crying during her adventurous night. "Why…?" she let out miserably, turning her head from his eyes. It was as if he had reached into her chest with his ungodly abilities and was crushing the life from her heart. She wanted it to go away.

"You're—you didn't lose…a mother ta other day. I-I did," she said, bringing her forefinger up as if to brush away one of his tears. However, her finger lingered a couple centimeters from his skin, refusing to even lightly touch it. "You don't…haft to cry," she bit her lower lip, "I do." That terrible pressure from before threatened her now, and the heaviness building in her chest felt like it would bring her to her knees. "But…I don't—don't want to…"

Warmth surprisingly began to seep into the left side of her face. Shutting her eyes tightly, she immediately turned her head toward it like a moth attracted to a flame. She could feel a moist softness slowly press on her lips. It took the woman a while to completely comprehend that the elf was kissing her. It was soothing, and the fingers wrapped around her heart lessened.

He pulled away and cradled her head between his hands, pushing his forehead against hers. "I am sorry," he murmured. "I was a fool…"

Such a sad and upsetting expression he held. However, she strangely did not mind it this time. Could she finally be honest with _him_? She needed to tell him how she had felt holding her mother's limp body in her arms. Avoiding it has caused tightness within her; bitterness toward him for not letting her go to him had formed. With this display of his emotions, was it alright for her to show her weaknesses to him? She had always wanted to show them to him and no one else, but ever since the day he had ended it, she had never dared.

Falling into his embrace, and burying her face into his shoulder, she allowed small rivulets to freely flow down the length of her face. She had known that thrusting her lamentations aside would do nothing for her in the long run. There was no escape from the memories of her mother's death, unless she was determined to become a true drunkard. "T-take…me home…" she struggled to keep her words articulate. "I don't…want to forget anything…"

* * *

><p>The alcohol took hold of her mind during their trek to her estate, causing her to blackout now and then. She recalled her legs tripping over one another, the scrapping of boots against stone, and the climbing of stairs. By the sight of the soft orange-hued lighting cast from the lone flame in the fireplace, her muddled mind recognized that she was in her room. There was a sensation of her skin being gradually peeled off and replaced with something loose and silky. Her weary coherence informed her that it was her robe. She was then plopped down onto something. Her entire body sunk into the plushness of her scarlet duvet atop her divan. She could perceive a blurry figure sitting beside her. How lovely he looked with his face aglow from the firelight. He smoothly pushed her slender legs up over the edge of the bed, straightening her laying position. He was about to leave until she grabbed ahold of his arm, pulling him down closer to her face.<p>

"What you—said…" she stopped to lightly shake her head. No, that wasn't what she wanted to say. She brought up her hand to his face, tracing his firm chin with her fingers to halt at the fresh cut she had inflicted on him. Her azure eyes repeatedly blinked, struggling to remain focused. She touched the freshly scabbed wound as gently as her drunkenness would permit. She let out a sigh, "I-I'm sorry…"

The elf said nothing as he stared at her for a few moments. Closing his green orbs, he merely leaned forward, placing another tender kiss on her lips. She returned it tenfold as she wrapped her arms about his neck.

_Thank you_.

Feeling him begin to contract away, her hands clasped fistfuls of his clothes on his back, pulling him in for yet another kiss. This wonderful moment would end too soon if he left right now. Her heart couldn't take that. She yearned for more of the enthralling scent which pervaded about him day and night. He had a piquant spice fragrance like that of a Zinnia Green Envy—a flower of dominant strength but also of delicateness like no other.

Instead of resisting her desiring embrace, Fenris fully relaxed against her body, closing his eyes and resting his forehead atop hers. The tension of his arms and chest diminished. There was still a trace of edginess to his slender figure. It was always as such, but tonight she could perceive that he was attempting to ignore it entirely. His calm breathing steadied her, and his closeness made her want to melt. Whether his actions and affection of tonight meant anything or not for the future, she needed him to remain until slumber overcame her. She needed it for her to stay strong this one lonely and painful night.

Even when her grasp on him lessened, and her mind began to fade into the darkness of dreams, she could still dimly sense his benevolent presence and the soft stroke of his hand.

* * *

><p><strong>Author's Notes:<strong>

_Sappy love story is sappy. P_

_I've always wanted to write a story from a drunken perspective, and I figured I'd use Hawke right after her mother's death. I believe the player was able to form Hawke's attitude a little more than any Commander Shepard. I tried out a few different techniques, experimenting with structure, imagery, and new vocabulary. You guys will have to tell me if I was successful or not. My pacing for the beginning and near the end is completely terrible, I know; however, I think the middle parts are at least decent. I seem to struggle when it comes to scenes with two people who have the same gender, which can probably be seen with Isabela and Hawke. Also, I keep fretting about Fenris' actions when he pulls her out of the Hanged Man. Something keeps telling me that he isn't in entirely in character; but, (with friend-romance, especially) I remember him being more emotional and willing to be open with Hawke._

_Anyhow, I hope you enjoy, and thank you for reading!_


End file.
